


pansexual pride cakes (or pan-cakes, if you will)

by anoddconstellationofthoughts



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Coming Out, HOW DID I FORGET THAT JFC, M/M, Pansexual Bucky Barnes, bc it's about the gay stuffs, but other than that it's just fluff, minor anxiety/panic attack?, sorry just felt like I should mention it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 22:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14778518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoddconstellationofthoughts/pseuds/anoddconstellationofthoughts
Summary: “Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”This is your chance. Take it.Bucky comes out to Steve. What more can I say?





	pansexual pride cakes (or pan-cakes, if you will)

**Author's Note:**

> *AU where Thanos is non-existent and IW never happens, so after Black Panther, Bucky and Steve are staying somewhere in Birnin Zana, the capital of Wakanda, together so Buck can continue his rehab and they can both get therapy. Some of the other Avengers are there too, also seeking rehab and therapy. Yaaaaayyyyy for therapy (or just meds if that’s your thing, you do you, boo).*
> 
> I can write okay, but proofing... is not my strong suit. So just let me know if you find anything. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> ~anoddconstellationofthoughts

Ideally, Bucky never would’ve done this.

Ideally, he never would have done a lot of things, but the world is a really shitty place, and sometimes, you just gotta suck it up and roll with the punches.

Fucking punches. Bucky hates the punches. Even more than he hates beets. And he _hates_ beets. Eugh.

The kitchen lights around him hum abruptly as they wake up.

“Morning Buck. Didn’t expect to see you in here this early,” Steve greets him. He pauses for a moment at Bucky’s expression, then opens the refrigerator. “Who shit in your cereal today?”

_This is your chance. Take it._

He says nothing. But Steve nods.

“Yeah, I get it. Let me know if you decide you wanna talk.”

“I will.”

Steve smiles at him and starts pulling out what seems like a random variety of fruits and vegetables. _Ugh, beets._  “Mkay.”

They’re silent for a moment, Bucky sitting on the kitchen’s island counter and Steve chopping things and chucking them haphazardly into a gigantic blender that he pulled out of a shelf as easily as one would take a spoon out of the drawer. Bucky hates himself for wanting to stay in the moment forever. _You came in here for a reason, Barnes,_ he reminds himself. _Now follow through_.

He grits his teeth. He’s tortured people before. Why is it so hard to simply say something?

“Hey, Steve, you know Wanda?” The words just barely make it past his locked jaw.

“Who, Wanda? I do not know this ‘Wanda’ that you speak of.” Steve jokingly side-eyes him, pouring milk into the blender, but there’s worry in the look.

Bucky grimaces. “Okay, fine, stupid question. I just…” he trails off. Steve doesn’t say anything, though he does turn to face Bucky. “I, um, apparently, I tend to think very loudly, sometimes? Now that I’ve gotten control over my mind, mostly, it’s freed up a lot of my own thoughts, so they’re a lot louder now. Like, they’re _all_ louder now, even the ones I try to ignore. And so Wanda and I were talking about stuff, mostly stuff from our past, she touched my hand, and suddenly I was in one of those thoughts, the ones that I try to ignore, and… she saw all of it.” The memory of Wanda’s shocked then carefully controlled face flashes behind his eyes again and he swallows the bile that’s begun to rise in his throat.

Steve just nods. “So now things are awkward?”

Bucky huffs, playing with the hem of his shirt. “It’s different than that.”

“Different how?” Steve’s as calm as ever. _How is he calm, he doesn’t get to be calm, this isn’t fair,_ I’m _not calm and I’m a trained_ assassin _for God’s sake, what the hell–_

“You don’t get it, I’m– I’m– I’m–” Everything is crashing down on him again and he starts to feel his muscles lock up, logic and panic firing arrows and javelins at each other, warring for control of his limbs.

“Bucky, breathe, breathe, please breathe, Buck, I need you to breathe–” Panic creeps into Steve’s voice, but Bucky doesn’t notice, won’t notice, can’t notice until a pair of arms are around him, strong and suffocating and far too tight, and for a moment Bucky struggles against them, but then the strength drips down through his body into the floor below and stays there, and his mind is not empty, but quiet, and he can _breathe_ again, so Bucky lets himself droop down and sink into the body holding him. Somewhere within of himself, he’s aware that the body is Steve, rubbing his back and making gentle “shh”-ing noises, and that the cloth where Bucky’s head rests is now wet. He doesn’t have enough energy to care.

“I’m here, Buck, I got you, I’ve got you and I’m not letting go, it’s gonna be alright now, Buck, I’m here,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s neck. His breathing presses his chest against Bucky’s in a slow, steady pattern, and Bucky tries to match it.

“ ‘m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, Buck,” Steve says roughly, “nothin’ at all.”

When Bucky finally manages to peel himself from Steve’s arms, he's a wreck. He hops off of the counter just to lean against it, and Steve, God, Steve turns around and starts the blender, buying him some time to breathe.

_Shit, Barnes, now's the moment. Go._

Bucky clears his throat.

“HEY, UH, STEVE, I’M PAN.”

_Shit._

Steve flicks off the blender, pausing just long enough to make the edges of panic creep back into Bucky's system. But when he turns around, he's grinning: full on, ear-to-ear grinning.

“Really?”

“I, uh,” Bucky clears his throat again, still watching his words hang in the air, “yeah. Yeah, really.” Steve launches himself forward and wraps Bucky in a hug almost tighter than the first, but this one feels closer somehow. Probably because Bucky’s now the small one, and the way his head is tucked under Steve’s chin feels unreasonably comfortable. “Not how I was meaning to tell you, though,” he mutters.

“How were you meaning to tell me?” Steve’s voice is genuinely amused, but Bucky barely notices.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know,” Bucky stares at the blender, “maybe a nice picnic, I’d bake the pansexual pride flag into a cake–”

“You’d bake the pride flag into a cake?” Steve pulls back and Bucky finally sees his ridiculous grin. Bucky feels a smirk grow in response.

“Yeah, you know, like those Pinterest gender reveal cakes.”

Steve giggles and Bucky puts his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know that Anaya and I have been talking about getting a new hobby, and she thinks baking is a great idea.”

“Alright, so the therapist thinks it’s a good idea. So, what, you’re gonna open up a store and start baking pride flags into cakes?”

Bucky nods, slowly. “...Yes.”

“Can I have one?”

Bucky blinks, stunned. “Sure…?”

“Okay,” Steve’s grin becomes impossibly brighter, “bisexual variety, please.” He winks then goes back to his smoothie.

“Bise–” Bucky gapes. “For real?”

Steve sticks a spoon in the blender and stirs the contents around. “Of course, Buck. Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes! On multiple occasions!”

Steve chuckles, putting the top back on the blender and placing the spoon on the counter. He turns to meet Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky finds himself suddenly trapped by the other man’s serious gaze.

“Well, I’m not lying. Not right now.” Steve pauses for a moment. “If it’s not too much... can I ask what thought Wanda saw…?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, and steels himself, pushing down the residual panic. “Oh, uh, I guess…” he down at his feet.

_Do it do it do it do it. The cliff’s right there, all you have to is_

_jump._

“It was maybe… you?” He winces and continues watching his feet intently.

Steve is quiet. “Me?”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Like…”

“Oh. _Oh._ ”

Bucky forces himself to look up, past Steve, and drills a hole in the cabinet behind him with his eyes. “Yeah.” He forces a cough and starts to spin on his heel to leave. “I should go–”

“Buck.”

A hand shoots out to grab Bucky’s wrist. The metal one. Bucky stares at it. “Yes?”

“You’re such a drama queen Buck, Jesus H. Christ, come ‘ere.” Steve pulls Bucky into yet another hug, burying his head in Bucky’s neck and breathing him in. He sighs deeply.

“You need to stop doing this, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice is muffled from Steve’s unfairly large shoulder.

Steve laughs and pulled him tighter. “But why would I do that?”

“Because I like it too much.”

The taller man loosened his grip on Bucky, shifting to rest their foreheads together. Bucky sucks in a breath. “Maybe that’s the point.”

_He’s right there._

_Just do it do it do it do it._

“Your eyes are so blue,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky is acutely aware of the fact that he’s only wearing boxers and a very, very thin t-shirt.

Steve’s phone buzzes, startling them both.

He leans back to grab it, one hand still resting on Bucky’s back, and reads the message. He raises his eyebrows, expression bland.

“Whelp. Guess Sam’s almost here for the run. Gotta go.” Steve gestures towards the smoothie. “Help yourself while I’m gone.”

“Steve!”

“What?”

“Okay, a, that smoothie has beets in it; I’m not touching it, and b, there is no way in hell you’re leaving me here.” Bucky plants his feet on the floor, both arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. “I won’t let you.”

“Hmm. Love ya too, gorgeous,” Steve leans forward and plants a chaste kiss on Bucky’s forehead. The shock temporarily breaks down Bucky’s defenses, and Steve dashes away. “Bye!”

Bucky bolts after him, “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

 

*   *   *

 

15 minutes later, Sam gets a text, saying, “Rain check on the run. Could you pick me up some sunflowers? Like a bouquet. Also, you won the bet. Thx bro, you’re the best!”

Sam groans, and calls to see if T’Challa wants to run with him instead. The King owes him 20 bucks and a new pair of shoes.

 

El Fin


End file.
